Two Kinds: Rise of the Confederacy
by Anonfox123
Summary: Lyn'Knoll. A name that inspires hope in some, disgust in others. But all outsiders know about it is the name. Sometimes, the truth is greater than the legend. (T for violence and such)
1. Recovery Zero

A young Basitin watchman raked his gaze across the night sky. Heck if he knew what he was looking for, just that the Director of strategy told him to keep his eyes on the sky. And that there had just been a huge flash of light from over the horizon, in the direction of the Basitin Island, putting everyone on edge. But there was nothing. Just empty blackness peppered with stars. His partner, peering through a night-scope, seemed to think other wise.

"Oh crap."

Oh crap what?"

"We've got incoming. White dragon, coming from the south."

"What? Where? I don't see anything"

"No time to argue, I know I never let you use the night scope. Signal the ballista crews."

Suddenly, a voice rang out in both their minds:

That would be a rather ill advised course of action. I don't think your "Director of Strategy" would be too pleased you tried to shoot down the dragon he hired to recover a level zero VIP.

Ah. Lady Nora. No wonder the Director had told them to watch the skies. The Basitin turned to his human compatriot. "You're the magic user around here..."

A spark of mana appeared at the human's fingers as prepared to launch his thoughts skyward.

Lady Nora, this is Confederate watchtower zero-seven. We respectfully request confirmation on level zero recovery.

Well, Nora said, addressing the figure riding on her back, Here's where you come in. Hope those toys of your's work as well as you say they do. I barely have enough energy to make it back to the island and maintain cover as it is. Can't spend all night dodging magically enhanced, four-foot arrows

The man said nothing, and only smiled as he took out a small, enchanted mirror, a series of runes lighting up on its surface. Tapping them in sequence, he began to speak: "This is Director of Intelligence Edmund Sirus. There is no time to bandy words about: our situation is dire."

Back on the ground, the two watchmen checked the series of symbols on their own mirror against the ones the Director of Strategy had given them.

"Director, Nora, the Strategist will meet you at the eastern field. Proceed with caution; we just finished repairs to the medical center last week."

I'll have you know that I've been flying a whole lot longer than you've been walking, insolent pup!

The two watchmen exchanged smirks. By that time, the dragon was close enough for them to make out her irate expression.

"Be that as it may, it doesn't change the fact that last time you were here you tore a hole right through the...

Ugh, fine. So much for waiting until people forgot about that...

The moment Nora touched down, a team of human clerics, bastitin medics and keidran healers rushed forward to unstrap the litter that had been positioned between her wings. Several winced at the sight of the broken body lying upon the stretcher, visible beneath the glow of a stasis spell.

"Man. Skull fracture, two broken ribs, multiple lacerations, possible internal injuries..." One of the white-clad doctors turned to a colleague. "I've heard you guys are as tough as all get out but we really have our work cut out for us, don't we?"

Their voices faded away as they made their way into the hospital. The man who had ridden in with the patient on Nora stood by a snow-white wolf, watching the dragon take off and fade into the distance.

"Nice to see you survived our little encounter with Ephemural."

"Nice to see that no one's seen through your disguise, my friend," the wolf answered dryly. "You do realize that even if he survives there is no guarantee he will join our cause."

"This isn't the first time I've made an excursion to the Islands. From what I've seen of him, he'll stand by us once he knows what we're fighting for."

"Hmm. Give me your honest opinion, Edmund. Do you think I'm implementing my plans a little too quickly? The Alphas, this recovery mission, and now, what are they, those runic devices?

"Of course we're moving too fast Euchre. But we have to: the Templar will just run us all into the ground otherwise."


	2. Bedside manner

"Sorry, we can't let you in with out the right security clearances. Medical personnel only."

The human trying to walk into the patient's room sighed in exasperation and turned to show the guard the insignia on his armband, fixing the hapless Keidran with a deadpan stare.

"Saying something like that to me is really ironic, you know."

"Ah, Alpha Sage! The right clearance AND medical personnel. Sorry about that. Go right ahead."

Entering the room, Sage swept a clipboard off the desk next to the door, reading it as he walked over to the patient's bed. A note scrawled in the margins by the intelligence director caught his eye, but before he could read it, his wrist was caught in a vise-like grip.

"Where's Keith?!"

Sage stared at the patient at he tried to get his mouth to work again.

"I'm sorry, who?" He said, as he tried to free his arm. In a burst of hostility, the patient shifted his grip and dug his claws into Sage's arm.

"Let's try that again; Where's Keith?"

"Augh! Shit! Masks above, how the heck would I know?" Sage yelped as he twisted free at the cost of a few bloody scratches on his arm. The patient leaped out bed, even his dead eye burning with anger, only to have his legs collapse under him the moment he hit the floor. Immediately, Sage wrapped his good arm around the patient, subduing him with his larger size.

"Calm down. That's an order. We're not here to hurt you. You've been unconscious for four days. You're weak, you're confused. Calm down."

An expression of concern crossed Sage's face as the patient began shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Poor guy, adrenaline letdown, most likely.

"I-I... I j-just want t-to know... if Keith's s-safe..."

"Alright, alright, take it easy." Sage replied as he helped the patient back into bed. "I might not know who Keith is, but if he's anything like you he'll be just fine. Now take it easy, ok?"

"Y-yeah. I'll try." The beginnings of smile crossed the patient's face as shuddering faded away. "S-Say I think we skipped on the introductions. You are...?"

"Sage, Jonathan Sage, team medic for the Alpha Guard. I saw your name on the doctor's report over there. Nickolai Alaric, right?" He said, gesturing to the discarded clipboard lying on the floor as he started to busy himself with a vial of pale gold liquid, putting a few drops on the scratches on his arm.

"The one and only." Gingerly, Alaric put a hand to the back of his head. "Wow... Back on the island, before I passed out I could actually feel pieces of my skull grating around when I moved. How did I survive?"

"Well, I'm not sure how they got you off the island, but when you got here, a team of eight doctors worked on you in three shifts. By the time they were finished, they'd gone through about two cases of ambrosium vials, but still got the job done. Oh, ambrosium is this stuff, by the way." He held up the vial and gave it a shake. "Its a little something put together to speed up the healing process." Sage held up his now completely uninjured arm. "Scratches? No problem. And in your case it probably saved your life more than anything else. Shame it couldn't do anything about your eye, though."

"Feh, its an old injury; I'm used to it. Still, why in all of Mekkan would a bunch Humans give a half damn about what happens to some Bastitin on an island miles away?"

Sage fixed another deadpan stare on Alaric. "You really have no idea where you are, do you? Right, well, that's easily fixed. " With that, he threw open the window shades, revealing the scene beyond, with Keidran, Humans, and the odd Bastitin here and there mingling on the street. Sage grinned at the dumbfounded expression that crossed Alaric's face. "Welcome to Lyn'knoll, my friend."


End file.
